I’ve been thinking a lot about the first summer I spent in New York. I might have written about that ad nauseam here. Sorry if so. But it was a good time, 2011: The middle of Obama’s first term, America on the economic upswing, and even though I had just about fifteen dollars in my wallet, everything felt colorful, cinematic, sensational. There was passion, possibility, power! And yet, because my frontal lobe hadn’t fully formed and I was living in an eighty-square-foot studio, I was so sad all the time.
So I was listening to a lot of artsy indie bands, because I was on Tumblr and the hipster groove was in full swing, and I so desperately wanted to feel like I was part of the club. (And you know what? I still do. Shut up.) I had Animal Collective, Tame Impala, and Vampire Weekend in the main rotation, with a little LCD Soundsystem, Art Brut, and Cloud Nothings thrown in for good measure. There was some Bon Iver, The National, and The War on Drugs, some Sunny Day Real Estate and Beach House, a touch of Alt-J, a dash of MGMT, and The Strokes, of course, because no NYC indie dork’s iTunes library was complete without The Strokes.
And now that I’ve buried the lede, you may ask: What does any of this have to do with star gazing iris, the project of NYC-based musician, writer, and photographer Matt Livick? Well, his debut album places makes me feel wistful for listening to all of those artists during that first summer in New York even more. Look here: I’m in my mid-thirties, I’m married, I have a house (which I technically rent but whatever), I have a day job that pays the bills, and I get to write about music from time to time. Life — at least on a personal level — is pretty good. So why in the world would I enjoy listening to music that makes me feel like I’m wandering around Grand Central at two in the morning with my headphones jams into my ears trying to figure out my life’s purpose?
Well, because any other music would feel boring. That’s why star gazing iris sticks with me: It scratches the same spot in my brain that my early-2010s playlists did. Livick shows off a vocal range that starts at a baritone croon and shoots into the stratosphere like a modern-day Roy Orbison, and he layers his voice on top of itself to create some crystalline harmonies. Those make a delicious pair with his mix of synths and guitars, creating an atmospheric indie rock sound both nostalgic and present, but altogether gorgeous. Livick’s music gets rhythm from Jake Reed on drums and Alex Newport on bass, and Leo Abrahams provides additional guitars for extra sonic flavor.
Livick is quite a seasoned photographer, and so many of his lyrics evoke imagery, such as “fields of lemongrass and thyme” on “Graves”, or a burning van underneath a bridge with every government agency closing in on “The Other Place”, or the delicious alliteration of “Sweat and leather, sun was beating/Sarasota strapless plaything” on “Like I Want You To”. But often he keeps his words somewhat abstract, much like his photo work: Lines of light blur and squiggle, faces multiply in double exposures, buildings sway in strange angles to show off more of the empty and limitless sky. It’s this kind of intentional artistry and chosen vagueness that makes Livick’s work so interesting.
I’m sorry: I don’t really know how to otherwise explain star gazing iris except to put it through the lens of a young person finding their way in a big city! I can see myself meeting up with friends in Union Square, sharing a couple bottles of three-buck chuck from Trader Joe’s and scarfing down some slices from the one-dollar joint which is now the two-dollar joint, and then stumbling to the Mercury Lounge (RIP) or Cake Shop (RIP) or The Delancey (still there, but let’s be real, RIP eventually) to hear star gazing iris blow our goddamn minds. And while we’re all stoked to be with each other and living our lives with reckless abandon, in the back of our heads, we’re all freaking out about our futures and praying nothing will come along in the next ten years to derail whatever sense of solidarity we might be able to achieve with our lives. (Aye, young lions of 2011. Surely nothing will occur in the 2010s to completely fray the already-fragile fabric of society to which you cautiously cling!)
Perhaps I should just quote from the Spotify page of star gazing iris: “Livick crafts songs built from lush arrangements, memorable melodies, and an enduring fascination with memory, distance, and the passage of time.” Ah, so that’s why I think of New York while listening to places. That summer — and the years during which I lived in New York after it — are fading from my mind as it ages and shrinks. I live about two hundred miles away. And in the — oh God — fifteen years since I first called New York City “home”, I’ve learned and changed a lot about myself.
In a way, that makes Livick’s music hit harder now than it might have if I heard places when I was in my twenties. places is evoking memories of places in times long past. And while I could never go back, and wouldn’t want to, it always feels nice to remember those days of being young, dumb, and full of possibility, even if I was crying for a good chunk of it.
Take a listen to “sycamore trees” from places below:
Written by Will Sisskind
